


A-Z

by Andalusa93



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Shire, Angst, Bagginshield alphabet, Baking, Bilbo Baggins Dies, Female Thorin Oakenshield, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, The Great Shire Conspiracy, Thorin Oakenshield Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 8,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andalusa93/pseuds/Andalusa93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumping ground for my Bagginshield Alphabet drabbles<br/>Acorns&Angst/BagEnd&Baking/Consorts&Charms/Dungeons&Dragons/Evenings&EarlyMornings/<br/>Flowers&Festivals/Gardens&Goodbyes/Hearts&Homes/Ink&IceCream(&Instagram)/Jasmine&Jade/Kings&Kittens/<br/>Lights&Lakes/Memories&Madness/Nerds/Offices&Ohs/Poetry&Parties/Questions&Quarrels/Rain&Roses/<br/>Snow&TheShire/Tea&Tarts/UnsaidNotUnheard/Vistas&Vows/West/Xylography&Xesturgy/Yule&Yarn/Zzz</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Acorns & Angst

He doesn’t understand why it hurts so much, even after all this time, when he traces shaking fingers along the frame of the map or his eyes pass over the chest by the door, he finds it difficult to breathe. It is worse when his hand reaches into his pocket to feel the acorn. There is no way it would grow now, too much time has passed, still, he finds himself wondering if by some miracle it could be coaxed back to life. 

No. Perhaps not. He knows if he squeezes too hard, it would shatter.

He pulls the acorn out and balances it in his palm, he scoffs. A fitting metaphor for the fragility of his own heart. This small thing, this… token, is all he has left other than memory. With a bitter sigh, he places it back in his pocket and wishes, oh, he wishes he had planted it after the funeral. It was still alive then, it could have grown and been beautiful. Now it sits in his pocket and rots from the inside out.

They’re worried, of course they are. Beyond what is required, he sits and does nothing. Lost in ‘what-if’s and ‘could-have-been’s. 

There was no way he could plant it now, and going to get another just doesn’t feel right. It was this one or nothing, so he decided nothing. Enough flowers adorn the site and his heart is already down there with him. He could give no more than that.

Still, he visits every day, he kneels and weeps and grasps the acorn and apologises.

_“I’m sorry, Bilbo.”_


	2. B is for Bag End & Baking

There was nothing better than waking to the smell of freshly baked bread in the morning, at least that’s what Thorin told himself when the warm scent lured him from slumber. When he drifted into the kitchen far later than would be deemed appropriate back in Erebor, Bilbo turned and grinned at him. 

“I’d never have known you would find hobbit life so agreeable,” he said, wiping floury hands on his trousers. 

Thorin shrugged and sat heavily at the table, he grunted a thank you when Bilbo placed a cup of tea in front of him but caught hold of the hobbit’s wrist when he made to move back to the counter. Bilbo looked down at his dwarf with a questioning expression. 

“Are you going to make any cookies today?” Thorin asked, his voice still gravely from sleep.

Bilbo let out a little laugh and put his other hand on his hip. “You won’t let me go if I say no, will you?”

Thorin shook his head and a playful smile spread across his lips.

“Well, I guess I have no choice,” Bilbo sighed dramatically.

“There is one other thing,” Thorin’s grip tightened ever so slightly and Bilbo found himself falling towards the dwarf, his free hand braced Thorin’s shoulder so he didn’t fall completely. He felt Thorin’s hand carding through his hair before he brought their lips together for a soft kiss. “I love you.”


	3. C is for Consorts & Charms

“You know I don’t have a care for these baubles and trinkets, Thorin,” Bilbo complained as he picked at the heavy gold cuff on his ear. “I don’t even know why I need to be there.”

“Because,” Thorin called from the adjacent room, “you’re my husband now.” 

The hobbit grumbled and sat on the chair next to the fireplace, his fingers still fiddling with the frankly absurd amount of jewellery Thorin had placed on him. “I still don’t see the point, it’s not like anyone will pay me any attention.”

Thorin said something in Khuzdul and stuck his head around the door to give Bilbo a flat look. “You are consort to the King, you’re expected to be there,” he sighed, his eyes drifted shut for a second, the corners of his mouth twitched as the dwarf tried not to smile. “This is the last function we have to attend before we leave, I promise.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows arched. “You said that about the last one, and the one before that.” He stood, walked over to his husband and took the half-finished braid from between Thorin’s fingers and as he twined the loose strands of hair together he dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper. “I think someone is conspiring against us, they don’t want us to leave the mountain.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Thorin admitted with a chuckle. “Most of the dwarves here think you’re some kind of lucky charm, they fear Erebor might fall in your absence.” He passed the bead for the braid to Bilbo and watched as the hobbit slid it into place.


	4. D is for Dungeons & Dragons

“You can’t spend the entire session in the tavern, Thorin.” Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and tapped a restless staccato on the table with the other. “Why did you even come along if this was all you planned to do?”

Thorin shrugged, pointedly ignoring the glares of his fellow players around the table. They muttered amongst themselves, impatient to continue with their quest. Bilbo had planned for this to be the finale of this particular campaign, but Thorin was being obstinate in his desire to sit this one out.

“Let’s just take five, guys, we’ll start again after I’ve talked with this lump,” Bilbo said to the rest of the group. 

They all stood, still murmuring, and left the room to top up drinks or grab a snack. Bilbo levelled Thorin with a glare and waited for him to talk. 

“You said it was important, so I came,” Thorin sighed eventually. “Besides, it’d be lonely at home without you.”

“Fine!” Bilbo snapped. “Stay in your stupid pub, but they’re gonna fail without you.”

“Well, that’s a stupid mission design, what if I’d died earlier in the quest?”

Bilbo jumped to his feet and prodded Thorin in the shoulder. “How dare you! Do you have any idea how long it took to put this story together?” 

Thorin held up his hands and leaned away from his boyfriend. “Sorry!”

“It’s not your skills or character,” Bilbo told him. “You have the only weapon that could take down the final boss. Any of you could’ve carried it, but you insisted, now you’re three days behind them and they-“

“Bilbo!” Thorin interrupted his little tirade and caught a hold of Bilbo gesticulating hands. “I’m sorry, I’ll play properly.”

When Bilbo pouted and a tiny ‘you promise?’ escaped him, Thorin chuckled, kissed his puckered lips and said, “I promise.”


	5. E is for Evenings & Early Mornings

It’s the half-light as the slanting rays of the sun shine through the windows, catching the floating dust and casting a warm glow on everything they touch. It’s the hushed whispers and soft touches, the scent of home-made food and the sound of a boiling kettle. It’s the birdsong caught in the air, the lazy drift of a flower’s petal fluttering like the wings of butterfly.

It’s the way his hair gleams like golden thread and his eyes sparkle with endless laughter, the way his voice can snap or caress. It’s the attention to detail and the sound of his name. It’s the silence when he walks and the way he can whisk you away to distant constellations with his stories. 

It’s his inner strength, the way he doesn’t know it’s there and the way it is always on show. It’s his defiance, his self-assurance and his forgiving nature. 

It’s the time spent with tangled legs and mussed hair fanned upon the pillow, hands clutching and pleas for more. It’s the gentle gasp and curve of his back, the shiver and the flutter of his eyelashes. 

More than anything, it’s the way everything feels as though it’s happening in a dream and the well placed reminder that it is real.


	6. F is for Flowers & Festivals

The midsummer festival was always the highlight of the year for the hobbits of the Shire, they celebrated with food and music and good company. Well, mostly good company, Bilbo thought to himself. He enjoyed the time he spent among his friends and neighbours when he wasn’t busy trying to avoid the dreadful Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. 

Bilbo rarely missed the opportunity to join the merriment, this year it would prove difficult to attend, what with the mountains and valleys, rivers and plains between himself and the Shire. Still, he would do his best. Perhaps it’s something the dwarves of Erebor might include in their calendar if he put the idea forward, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

And ask he did. The dwarves agreed it would be a good idea. Good for relations with Dale and Mirkwood, good for new businesses and good for general morale. The council pushed it through, allocated Bilbo as head of the new festival committee and a frankly absurd amount of money for the venture. Bilbo stared at the number on the paper he held and wondered how anyone could even imagine spending that much. 

What started as a small idea borne of slight homesickness soon turned into something Bilbo could barely contain. He recruited various dwarves, men and elves to help make it a success and soon enough the plan for a single day of festivities turned into a week-long event filled with feasts and tourneys and grand markets. 

As midsummer approached, Bilbo’s time with Thorin dwindled as he got pulled into last minute planning and organising. Thorin was always early to rise and Bilbo was always late to bed, but the week of the festival had been declared a holiday, no one was expected to work, save those who cooked for the feasts or registered for stalls in the market, but Bilbo had encouraged the revellers to do as hobbits did and bring along a dish or two of their own. 

It was a roaring success, on the last night in the Gallery of the Kings, a final feast was taking place. Informal and open to all. Finally finding some respite in a darkened corner, away from the crowds and musicians, Bilbo slumped against the wall. He watched as women of all races swirled around the dance floor in colourful dresses, laughter bubbling freely from their smiling lips. Men foolishly challenged dwarves and elves to drinking contests. 

Bilbo smiled, yes, a great success. A darker shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Thorin stood before him, void of his crown and state robes. He carried a handful of flowers. Before Bilbo could question them, Thorin took his hand and lead him further into the alcove. He sat down on the floor and pulled the hobbit with him.

“I understand it is hobbit tradition to present your intended with a crown of flowers on a night such as this,” Thorin murmured and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s temple.

He nodded and watched as his dwarf wove the stems together, fingers nimble from the years of braiding his own hair. It was finished soon enough and Thorin placed it on his head almost reverently. 

Bilbo smiled and stood, his hand extended toward Thorin. “May I have this dance?”

Together, they made their way to the centre of the floor, they danced and stole kisses, they sighed soft words of promise, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.


	7. G is for Gardens & Goodbyes

Bilbo never dealt with conflicting feelings well, it was strange to stand before Bag End, with its familiar green door and polished smoking bench out front, knowing he would probably never see it again, never call it home again. He had returned to set his affairs in order, to reclaim any belongings he might need and auction off anything he no longer required. Most of the things he was keeping had already set off towards the mountain.

He sighed as his fingers lingered on the gate post, his eyes closed for a moment when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. When he opened them, he focused on the garden, the various flowers and shrubbery he planted with his parents all those years ago. Beyond the curve of his smial was the vegetable patch, one he carefully tended each day and in return he was rewarded with the best tomatoes for miles around.

Bilbo sighed again and turned away, curling into Thorin, who held him tight. He knew how hard it was to say goodbye to a home, voluntary or otherwise. 

The ponies waited nearby, as they mounted and set off at a leisurely pace, Bilbo looked back over his shoulder just once more. 

In a bid to bring a smile back to Bilbo’s usually sunny face, Thorin asked with a grin: “Did you remember to pack your handkerchief?” 

The hobbit blinked once, twice and then threw his head back in laughter, when he settled, he reached over and squeezed Thorin’s hand. 

“Let’s go home.”


	8. H is for Hearts & Homes

It was a long road back to Erebor, though somewhat less taxing than the last time they made the same journey. The distinct lack trolls, orcs and strange, gangling creatures threatening to eat you if you lost a game of riddles actually made it quite enjoyable, even if Thorin was reluctant to make use of the various acquaintances they had made. 

They made it to the mountain in good time, though the cries of elation from the company would have made any passer-by think it had been years since they last saw each other. There was a feast, there was dancing and, of course, the official engagement announcement. Bilbo just knew there would be a bruise on his back from where various dwarves had slapped him.

Still, it was all worth it. At the end of the night, they retired to their room and despite having a nap earlier in the day, Bilbo was exhausted. He let Thorin guide him to the bed and watched as the dwarf knelt before him and kissed the palms of each of his hands. 

“If you ever want to go back, say the word and I will follow. Know that my home is with my heart, and that my heart belongs to you, Ghivashel,” he said softly, earnestly.

Bilbo couldn’t reply to that, he let his fingers tangle in Thorin’s hair, gently coaxing him to look up at him. He smiled when their eyes met. “Let’s go to bed, you silly dwarf.”


	9. I is for Ink & Ice Cream (& Instagram)

“Please don’t do that,” Thorin said without opening his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything,” Bilbo replied, his smile evident in his voice, inevitably, that statement was followed by the sound of a satisfied huff.

“Happy?” 

“Very.”

Thorin opened his eyes just a fraction and peered at Bilbo, he was leaning over his phone, probably picking a filter for the photo he had just taken. He reached over his head and adjusted the umbrella that provided the shade he was currently lying in, his feet were still buried in the sand Bilbo had piled on them when they first arrived at the beach, not that he minded, he didn’t plan on moving any time soon.

Small expressions flitted over his boyfriend’s face as he tapped away on his phone, Thorin just watched him for a short while; he would never get bored of exploring his body with his eyes. Bilbo was like a walking work of art, with the weather the way it was, most of his tattoos were on display. Thorin had traced all of them at least once, if he were a better artist, he could probably recreate all of the ink on Bilbo’s body from memory alone.

“Stop staring.” Bilbo’s voice cut through is reverie, he blinked and refocused his eyes. “It freaks me out.”

Thorin laughed suddenly and caught Bilbo around his middle, dragging the smaller man towards him. Bilbo struggled, giggling as Thorin’s beard ticked his skin, and when Thorin placed his lips firmly on his stomach and blew a large raspberry he shrieked. Their little scuffle drew the attention of some other groups on the beach. 

Bilbo wriggled until he was free from Thorin’s grip, it didn’t take too much as he was busy laughing at Bilbo’s outraged expression. 

“Fuck you,” Bilbo gasped, glaring at Thorin, trying to look angry even as the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m going to get an ice cream.” 

As he walked away Thorin called after him. “I’ll have a Twister!” A middle finger was the reply to that, and a second one joined it when he shouted: “Love you, too!”


	10. J is for Jasmine & Jade

Bilbo gulped. He was nervous, he shifted on his feet and clenched his hands into fists waiting for the door to open. The lines he had practised hundreds of times in the weeks leading up to this had gone from his head, his mind was completely blank save a strange buzzing sound that seemed to encompass everything. 

The guards on either side of the double doors tapped the butts of their spontoons on the floor, the sharp, metallic clunk drew Bilbo out of his thoughts and back into the present. The doors were pulled open from the inside and he was announced. He made his way forward, ignoring the fact that several hundred dwarves were watching his every step, there was only one dwarf that mattered, and he sat waiting upon the throne. 

Somewhere in the distance there was a cheer and wolf whistle followed by a small ripple of laughter. Bilbo just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  


All too soon he stood in front of the throne of Erebor, Thorin looked down at him, his eyes filled with love, and for a moment, they were the only two beings in the room. The ceremony passed in a blur, Bilbo would be ashamed to say he couldn’t recall every detail, but it was done. 

One of the first things Bilbo did when they were finally alone was remove the circlet Thorin had placed gently upon his head. He turned it this way and that, inspecting the fine engravings on the sides. 

“Jade,” Thorin told him. “The flowers are-“

“Jasmine,” Bilbo breathed, his fingers glided over the smooth, polished stone. “You made this?”

Thorin nodded and carefully took the circlet out of his hands and put it back on Bilbo’s head, adjusting his hair so it settled properly. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for anyone interested  
> Jade is the forth chakra stone, for the heart, it is a stone of protection and represents successful love  
> Jasmine (specifically Indian Jasmine) symbolises attachment, other varieties represent sensuality, joy, grace and elegance


	11. K is for Kings & Kittens

“Check!” Bilbo exclaimed, his voice triumphant as he moved his knight into place.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Thorin almost drawled as he pushed a bishop over to the same square and claimed the piece. “You’re making this too easy, I thought you said you could play chess.”

“Yeah,” Bilbo flapped his hand, dismissing the comment as he stared intently at the board between them. “It’s not my fault you’re freakishly good at this, besides,” he glanced up at his opponent, “I’d like to see you try and beat me at a game of conkers.”

“Mmhm.” 

It was almost painful watching Bilbo play, he would agonise over which piece to move and then make the same mistake each time, so far the only pieces he had removed from the board were two of Thorin’s pawns. Thorin, on the other hand, had taken all of Bilbo’s piece except the king, a rook and few pawns. 

He tried to give the other man hints, a slight shake of his head or tightening of his lips, but he didn’t seem to catch on. When Bilbo went to move a pawn, Thorin had to reach out and stop him. 

“You play too aggressively, Bilbo. Look.” He took the pawn Bilbo was about to move. “If you do that, you leave your king wide open.” Thorin put the pawn back, picked up the rook and placed it in the path of his knight. “If you do that, it blocks two of my pieces, see? You need to know when to attack and when to defend.”

“Okay.” Bilbo frowned, his eyes roaming over the board and then he smiled. “Okay.”

Thorin was just about to make his move when something orange and fluffy crashed onto the table, knocking several pieces over and nearly spilling Bilbo’s drink into his lap.  
“God damn it, Smaug!” 

Thorin stood and picked up the offending kitten, a new pet who had yet to learn the house rules. He was a terror, scratching the furniture, knocking things over and being a general nuisance. And right now, he had Thorin’s king firmly grasped in his mouth, trying with all his might to chew the little crown off. 

“Well, I guess I win,” Bilbo said with a smile.

“How’d you figure that?” Thorin asked, narrowly avoiding Smaug’s claws as he tried to reclaim his king, then hissed at the animal. “Give it back, you little shit.”

“You’ve lost your king, so I win.”

Thorin sighed and let the kitten go. “I guess you do.”


	12. L is for Lights & Lakes

Just under a year on from reclaiming the mountain Bilbo and Thorin stood on the shore of the Long Lake, they had watched the sun set below the tops of the trees of distant Mirkwood though there was still a slight tinge of pink to the sparse clouds. Now they turned to look south.

The men of Dale had set out at first light, dozens of people boarded small boats and sailed to where Esgaroth once stood. They waited patiently, a small crowd of dwarves behind them also had their eyes fixed on the southern shore of the lake. In the distance, a small orange flame flickered into life, a single point of light in the hazy dusk. 

Bilbo watched it rise slowly into the air, it drifted in the cool breeze and was soon joined by others. One dwarf went amongst the crowd with a candle to light the wicks of their paper lanterns, they were decorated with various motifs, but all bore a message to those who lost their lives in Smaug’s attack and the following battle. 

Thorin released his first, then Bilbo, and then the rest of the dwarves. Bilbo followed the lights with his eyes for a moment, but his attention was dragged away by a small movement out of the corner of his eye. He elbowed Thorin and tilted his head in the direction of the forest to the west. Lamps rose from between the branches and the flames burned in a myriad of colours.

He turned again so he was looking back towards Erebor. More lights silently drifting up into the night from Dale and from the mountain. They were surrounded by twinkling lanterns, all sizes, shapes and colours. All reflected by the surface of the lake so it looked like liquid starlight.


	13. M is for Memories & Madness

Bilbo recoiled, shrank in on himself and away from Frodo, the horrified look on his nephew’s face at his outburst was more than enough for him to snap out of whatever madness had suddenly taken hold when he saw the Ring. He could feel his hands shaking, his lip quivering as he struggled to hold back tears. 

“I am sorry I brought this upon you, my boy,” he told Frodo, almost afraid to look at him. “I'm sorry that... you must carry this burden.” His voice sounded so small even to his own ears.

With the tiniest of sighs Bilbo let his shoulders drop, he turned away as understanding washed over him. That unexpected loss of control, all of his desire focused on one small thing to the point of violent greed, it wasn’t him. _It wasn’t him._

Bilbo wondered if he had that same look of terror and alarm on his face when Thorin held him over the wall, he wondered if Thorin couldn’t help his actions, couldn’t control his mind, when he was consumed by the dragon cursed gold of Erebor. He knew the dwarf was acting strange, but it never occurred to Bilbo that it was uncontrollable. 

When he looked back at Frodo, he wondered if Thorin felt the same guilt, the same shame, he was wracked with. He recalled the words, choked out from between bloody lips: _‘I wish to part from you in friendship.’_

_‘Forgive me.’_

_‘I was too blind to see.’_

And Bilbo did forgive him, at least that’s what he said, but in all the years since his passing, he could never fully heal from the hurts of Thorin. His forgiveness was only a small comfort for the dying King, a remnant of the love he once held. 

Now he could see, now he knew, he understood and he could let it go. _It wasn’t him._

For Frodo, for Thorin, for all of the bitterness he still held, Bilbo whispered: “I'm sorry for everything.”


	14. N is for Nerds

“Don’t you dare!” Bilbo yelled just a fraction of a second before he felt Thorin’s hands come into contact with his arse. He whipped around and smacked the dwarf’s shoulder. “I said: don’t.”

“Well,” Thorin chuckled. “How could I resist when you’re leaning over your desk like that?”

Bilbo sighed and went back to searching for the map, keenly aware of Thorin lingering in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder several times, his expression becoming more and more confused when Thorin’s cheeky smile only seemed to grow. 

“What?” He finally asked. 

“Nothing at all.”

And then he was gone, but as he turned, Bilbo noticed his hands, which had been hidden behind his back, had the remnants of flour on them. He twisted and saw two dusty white handprints on his behind.

“Thorin!” The answer to his outraged cry was a rumble of laughter from somewhere further into the smial, Bilbo turned on his heel and went in search of his husband. “You impudent dwarf, get back here!”

Before he could get any further than the kitchen Bilbo found himself caught between a very warm dwarf and a very solid wall, he gave Thorin’s braid a sharp tug but accepted his kiss anyway. Bilbo could feel the way Thorin smiled into the kiss, the slight firmness of his lips and the way little snuffles of air from his nose tickled his cheek.

“You are ridiculous,” Bilbo stated when they eventually parted.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed, his eyes sparkled and small creases appeared at the edges when he smiled again, “and so are you, now come to bed, I missed you today.”


	15. O is for Offices & Ohs

He was supposed to be working, even if the day was drawing to an end for his assistant, his ‘to-do’ list only seemed to grow as time went by. Thorin sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. Bilbo wouldn’t forgive him for being home late again. If the cool reception he had been greeted with last night was any indication, his husband’s patience was running thin. Of course Thorin had tried to explain it was only for a short while, soon he would be able to start leaving the office early again and all of his spare time would be devoted to him.

Thorin sighed again and tapped at his keyboard a couple of times, the work wouldn’t do itself but he had absolutely no drive to actually do anything. There was a knock at the door, without looking up he called for whoever it was to come in, it was only when he heard the door lock that he paid any attention to the person.

“Bilbo,” he said with a nervous and apologetic smile, “I sent you a message.”

“I know,” he replied, his gaze locked on Thorin. “You’ve been working so _hard_ lately, so I thought I’d come and see you tonight, because who knows when you’re gonna be home?”

The tone of Bilbo’s voice made Thorin a little uncomfortable, he watched as the younger man made his way over to his desk and rested on his elbows. Bilbo smiled sweetly, too sweetly, reached out and tugged Thorin forward by his tie.

“You look like you could use a break,” he muttered before crashing their lips together. 

After they parted Bilbo chuckled, walked around the desk and pushed Thorin’s chair back so he could straddle his legs. Thorin’s hands found their way to Bilbo’s hips, he held on with a firm grip, his hold tightened ever so slightly when Bilbo loosened his tie and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. A breathless whisper of “I miss you.” brushed past his ear before Bilbo laid a trail of soft kisses down his neck. 

Thorin could do nothing but melt under Bilbo’s ministrations even if he was acutely aware of the fact his assistant had a key and would invariably want to stick her head around the door and say goodnight as she always did. For now, all he could really focus on was the sharp sting as Bilbo sucked a mark onto his neck.

How long stayed like that, he didn’t know, but the loud knock on the door startled them both. Bilbo rolled his eyes and climbed off his lap. Thorin fully expected him to sit on one of the other chairs or lean against the desk as he usually did when visiting, instead he sunk down and hid himself under the desk as Thorin rebuttoned his shirt. 

It was a quick exchanged, but Thorin had to stifle the moan stuck in the back of his throat when he felt Bilbo’s deft fingers un-buckling his belt and pulling his trousers as far down as he could. His assistant just gave him a strange look and then took her leave. When she was gone Thorin pushed his chair away from the desk once again and glared at Bilbo.

He was rewarded with his trousers being tugged at again. Thorin let out a frustrated groan and lifted his hips and finally his trousers and underwear were bunched around his ankles, his erect cock sprang free and, oh, the way Bilbo licked his lips was just delicious.


	16. P is for Poetry & Parties

“Thorin wrote me a poem once,” Bilbo said merrily, he took a sip of his drink before he went on. “It was awful, I got it framed and put it in my bathroom.”

Dís snickered and patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “He never was any good at that kind of thing.”

“What did it say?” Kíli asked, his eager grin spoke volumes, doubtless he would go and tell everyone about the silly little thing.

Because he wanted to spare Thorin from a night of public ridicule from his nephews (and because he didn’t want to admit he knew it word for word), Bilbo just shrugged. “You’ll have to read it for yourself when you next come over.”

“All lit!” Fíli announced from the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Get the lights.” 

Bilbo obliged and flicked the light switch next to him, then took the cake from Fíli. He made his way over to where Thorin was stood, singing along with everyone else, but he was the one who got to place a light kiss on Thorin’s cheek and whisper ‘make a wish’ as he put the cake down in front of the birthday boy.

Thorin, who had sunk down in his seat as soon as the lights went out, rolled his eyes and sat up a bit. “You’ve all had years of practice, I’d have thought you would know how to sing by now,” Though he grumbled, a small smile flickered over his lips when the assembled party guest responded with jeers and a couple of cat calls.

He blew out the candles and handed out slices of cake, Bilbo stood by his side and waited until people started to mingle again to ask “What did you wish for?”

“That would be telling, love, wishes don’t come true if you tell someone.”


	17. Q is for Questions & Quarrels

While Bilbo helped Bombur pack away the washed pots from supper he noticed that Thorin was still glaring at the sky as if it had done something to personally offend him, in much the same way he had been doing throughout the meal. Bilbo sighed and muttered an apology to Bombur before he walked to stand directly in front of His Majesty. Thankfully he was sat away from the main circle of dwarves.

“What is your problem?” Bilbo hissed.

“You are,” he replied shortly, his brow furrowed for a second and then he let out a long breath through his nose. “You won’t let me help with the search for the door, you treat me like a child and worry that I will get lost as soon as I leave camp, there is only so much time left before Durin’s Day. I can help, Bilbo.”

The hobbit tapped his foot on the ground and put his hands on his hips. “I think, given your track record, my worries aren’t exactly unfounded.” Bilbo held up a hand and counted on his fingers. “Twice in the Shire, the forest, Mirkw-“

“This is different,” Thorin interrupted him. “This is my home, besides Balin, no one knows these lands better.” 

“Fine,” Bilbo said, his voice slightly louder the second time he said it. “Fine! But if you end up getting lost, it’s your own fault.”

Perhaps Thorin was going to say something else but Bilbo just walked away, he needed time alone to think. He heard Thorin calling his name and he knew he would have to endure more questions when he returned. Bilbo slipped the ring on when he was far enough ahead of the dwarf and carried on walking.


	18. R is for Rain & Roses

“Over here, Bilbo.” Thorin tugged him towards some shelter, they half jogged towards a small dry patch between two stalls. 

The thin layer of tarp over their heads stretched with the added weight of the rain and they were already soaked to the bone, but at least they wouldn't get any wetter than they were. 

“I told you it would rain,” Bilbo grumbled, he moved closer to Thorin to try and absorb some of his body heat. 

“Yes, you did,” Thorin chuckled and undid his coat, he gathered Bilbo to his chest and wrapped the coat around his shoulders. “Not much we can do about it now.”

Bilbo hummed and rested his cheek against Thorin. They stood like that for a long while waiting for the rain to let up but it didn’t show any sign of stopping, heavy drops of water splashed down into the churned up ground turning the walkway into a muddy mess. 

“We can always come back tomorrow,” Thorin said.

“Today is the last day of the fair.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Bilbo laughed and looked up at Thorin. “It’s not your fault, you can’t control the weather.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Thorin grinned at him, he leaned down and softly touched their foreheads together.

“Oh, stop it, you.” Bilbo tilted his head ever so slightly and their lips met, for a brief moment the sound of rain and complaining people disappeared. 

“Flower for the lad?” 

The couple broke the kiss and looked around, a woman with a basket of roses stood in the rain smiling at Thorin. She held out a single flower for him to take, he did so, but before he could hand her any money she had already wandered off.


	19. S is for Snow & The Shire

Bilbo remembered the last time he saw snow falling from the sky. He was half a world away knelt on a frozen river, he had just realised he loved, and was loved by, the broken dwarf cradled in his arms. The memory alone was like a punch to the gut. 

He still had nightmares about it, waking in the middle of the night shouting Thorin’s name, sometimes there were tears on his cheeks, and other times he had to wash his hands to scrub away the feeling of congealed blood that wasn’t actually there. It was foolish, to dwell on a thing long past, but still he found his mind wandering back to that horrific day.

Now Bilbo sat at his desk staring out the window, lost in memory instead of writing down the events of his adventure. It hurt to write it, but it was something he had promised to do. Ori had written while on the journey and the dwarves had so kindly asked if they could hear the story from his point of view. Of course, he would have done it anyway. Bilbo still looked over his mother’s old travel journals from time to time.

At the moment he was still making notes, amending and editing passages already written. It seemed fitting he would reach this part of the quest on a day such as this. Bilbo snorted and dipped his quill into the inkpot. The sound of approaching footsteps made him pause his work again, he didn’t turn around, it would make this so much more difficult. 

“Are you sure you want me to write this in?” Bilbo asked.

“I doubt we would get any peace otherwise,” Thorin replied with a short laugh. “It’s for the best, dear, just make sure our deaths are heroic.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. “I can go for majestic, considering how _important_ you are.”


	20. T is for Tea & Tarts

“Will you stop making those noises?” Bilbo asked shortly, “it’s very distracting.”

“I can’t help it, dear,” Thorin smiled and picked another pastry from the plate before her. “They are absolutely delicious.”

“They’re just curd tarts, nothing special,” the hobbit assured her.

Thorin’s chuckled, her laugh was deep and melodic and sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine. He sipped at his tea and watched as the dwarrowdam carefully bit into the tart, crumbs fell and landed in her beard. It was almost long enough to braid now.

That was something she was very pleased about, Thorin had explained her desire to keep it cropped since the mountain was taken by Smaug, but now she had reclaimed her kingdom, she wanted to let it grow. The more time Thorin spent upon her throne, the happier she seemed to be. She smiled more often, laughter was more freely given and the love in her eyes whenever she looked at Bilbo was no longer guarded. 

“Bilbo?”

The hobbit in question focused his gaze.

“You’re staring again.”

Bilbo shook his head and placed his tea cup on the table. “I can’t help myself,” he reached over and took her hand, “you’re so beautiful when you smile.”


	21. U is for Unsaid not Unheard

There wasn’t time to say them. 

There were more important words, other words they needed. Words of forgiveness and betrayal. Words of friendship and home. 

More words are said. 

There is one that cuts like a knife, followed by a name, a smile. More words follow, words of books and armchairs and trees. After that there is only silence and a distant gaze.

There is another repeated, interrupted by unfinished pleas, cut off by grief. There is no more to be said. No word could describe the pain or anguish.

One last chance to say them, a missed opportunity, caught by a tide of despair and washed away into the dark and cold tomb, drowned out by words far larger, echoed by a kingdom reclaimed.

Three words they needed and feared to hear aloud. Three words that would make everything too real. Three words that haunt and mock: If they had been said, would things be any different? Would anything have changed?

All it took was time. 

The three words, just three small words lurking behind parted lips, never uttered. Three words that didn’t have to be spoken, they were realised in every touch and gasping breath. 

They knew, they always knew, that is why they were never said. Never said, but still there. Never said, but still known. Never said, but still heard.


	22. V is for Vistas & Vows

After seeing to his affairs in the West, Bilbo returned to the mountain with no small amount of trepidation. He was giving up everything for this, but every time he looked at Thorin, he knew it was worth it. They married, eventually. Thorin insisted on going through the entire dwarven courting ritual. It wasn’t exactly a speedy process to start with, but with his kingly duties demanding his attention, it took even longer than usual. 

Still, it was worth the wait. Bilbo’s hair had grown out, not as long as the dwarves, but just enough for some decent braids. They were a comforting weight and something new to fiddle with after he left the magical ring in Rivendell. 

Bilbo always feared he would miss the sun and feeling of soft earth beneath his feet if he stayed in Erebor. Years on, he never understood why he felt such a way. He stood on the shore of the Running River, not too far from where he had almost lost Thorin, and took in the view of the valley below

Young trees were growing out of the once desolate ground, birds filled the air with song and a warm breeze tugged at Bilbo’s hair, a promise of a good summer. They had been fortunate after the battle. Luck was on their side for once.


	23. W is for West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [have more pain](http://striving-artist.tumblr.com/post/131758445742/striving-artist-w-is-for-west-so-i-tweaked)

Many long years had passed since Bilbo last saw him, washed of the grime that covered him, the nasty cut on his head stitched so finely it was barely there, his hair combed and re-braided, and dressed in clean ceremonial garb, pale faced and cold, still as the tall statues guarding the tomb in which he was buried. Bilbo couldn’t stand to look at him, no, he had turned his face away to hide the tears, he had fled back to his home and tried his hardest to forget.

Time was a great healer, it provided distance and a chance to escape the reality of his adventure. Bilbo recounted the stories of the quest many times over, each time altered to skim over any detail too personal. He enjoyed telling others of the perils he encountered, soon the tales were more real than the memories he desperately wanted to let go of.

Life went on, as it has a habit of doing, everything remained the same. Bilbo found himself recalling a conversation between him and Gandalf.

“Can you promise I will come back?” He had asked.

“No,” was Gandalf’s reply, “and if you do, you will not be the same.”

The truth of the words sank in as he watched Hamfast tending his garden through the kitchen window. 

After Frodo moved in he tried to make peace with everything that happened. Everything changed, mostly for the better, but every time Bilbo looked at the lad he saw a face he had tried so hard to forget. Solemn blue eyes and an unruly mop of dark hair. Perhaps he didn’t want to forget entirely.

The Shire was too small for him, Bilbo began to realise that as he grew older, it wasn’t home. Even when his hair started to grey and a never ending fatigue draped itself over his shoulders like a coat weighed down with heavy rocks, he found himself wanting. 

Bilbo bought a journal on one of his trips to the market with Frodo and dedicated almost every waking moment to filling it with memories. Now they were slipping away from him, he found he wanted to hold on to them. It was taking far too long, more time was spent lost in thought than actually writing. 

His time in Rivendell was the hardest. Despite all the comfort the place offered, his heart could not settle. Frodo had pledged his life to destroy that seemingly harmless ring he had found in the goblin caves. He would likely die in his attempt. 

The light seemed to be dimming, the vibrant gardens of Imladris were fading, the elves were departing. Bilbo’s book was finished and time had caught up with him. News of corruption and death was delivered daily. He was promised a space on a boat to sail west. Everything was ending.

The ring was destroyed, the battles were won and he stood on the deck of fine vessel carved in the likeness of a swan, it swayed gently as water lapped at the hull. He looked back at the land he would be leaving forever and saw something, a shade, a familiar silhouette, though when he blinked it was gone. Bilbo rested his head on Frodo’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

It might have been a second or an eternity later that he felt himself being shaken. Bilbo opened his eyes and looked around. An unfamiliar shore was waiting for him. He stood and made his way to the bow as they approached land. Whether is was the fresh air or the effects of being in a place such a this, he didn’t know, but Bilbo found he could breathe easier, see better, he felt lighter than he ever had before.

As the boat sailed closer Bilbo could make out a lone figure stood upon the white sand with one hand raised in greeting and long hair caught in the warm breeze.

Many long years had passed since he last saw him, and here he was, waiting.


	24. X is for Xylography & Xesturgy

Thorin wasn’t used to working with wood, he had spent many years smithing in order to sustain his family, so his skills were primarily in small repairs for household objects and plain, sturdy weapons. He knew that wood wasn’t weak, Thorin remembered the oak branch he carried and used as a shield, the very thing from which his name derived, lost somewhere on the journey to the mountain. 

That shield had served him well, he missed the familiar weight but at the same time, he was glad it was gone - another piece of a past self - shed to make way for what he hoped to be a dwarf far more worthy of the recipient of this gift. 

He was no longer Thorin Oakenshield, a war hero and leader of an exiled race. He was no longer Thorin Son of Thrain, heir to a lost kingdom and cursed throne. He was no longer Thorin, King Under the Mountain, half mad and undeserving of the title. He hadn’t been any of those people for a long time. 

For the past 80 years he had been Thorin Baggins, finally at peace in a home he never expected to find. 

Thorin had presented his husband with gifts fashioned by his own hand each year on their anniversary, the gifts of years gone by had suited his talents well, even if he struggled with engraving, he was used to working with metals and gems. Oak was the traditional gift to give for an 80th anniversary. Rather fitting, he thought with a smile. 

He decided to make Bilbo a new garden bench. While the one at the front of the smial was absolutely fine, there was a distinct lack of seating in the back garden. Thorin knew it would take a while, but he never anticipated that he would still be working on the engravings the night before he planned on presenting it. There was still so much to do and it would need to be polished several times.

It would be worth it, though. Every second of his life he had lived after what was now known as the Battle of the Five Armies was a gift and he owed it entirely to the fussy hobbit he married all those years ago.


	25. Y is for Yule & Yarn

“This is the worst thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” Thorin declared as he held up the sweater. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Bilbo could barely supress his laughter, instead he covered his mouth with his hand and watched as Thorin tossed the jumper on the arm of the sofa.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing yours.” 

“It’s Christmas!” Bilbo exclaimed, “Prim must have spent a lot of time on these, handmade with love.”

Thorin snorted. “And no taste.”

“That’s not the point, besides, it’s keeping me toasty warm until the heating comes on.”

“We could have stayed in bed, you know.” Thorin grinned at Bilbo. “Plenty of ways we could have stayed warm there.”

Bilbo crossed his arms and glared, if it hadn’t been for the traitorous smiled flitting across his lips it might have dimmed the hungry look in Thorin’s eyes. Instead he chuckled and picked out another gift for Bilbo to open. 

They continued to open gifts and trade snarky comments until they were interrupted by a low snarling sound. Smaug had emerged from his den and was making war with the sleeve of Thorin’s jumper. Some of the yarn had already unravelled, much to the cats delight, and Bilbo sighed.

“At least someone is getting some use out of it.”


	26. Z is for Zzz

He knew Bilbo would fall asleep before he finished reading. He always did. And as always, Thorin would mark their place in the book, set it down on the side table and carefully manoeuvre his way out of the hobbit’s grip. He would go around the room and extinguish the candles, put the fire-guard in place then return to the slumbering Bilbo.

Ever so gently, Thorin would pick him up, it wasn’t difficult; Bilbo would always sigh and bury his face into Thorin’s chest as he slowly walked to the bedroom. He was always prepared for this eventuality, the covers on Bilbo’s side of the bed already pulled back so Thorin could lay him down without having to wake him. 

Bilbo rolled towards the centre of the mattress, one hand stretched out in search of warmth. Thorin made his way to the other side of the bed, he shed his tunic before getting under the covers with the hobbit. Before he had a chance to settle properly, Bilbo moved so his head rested on his chest and his body curled into Thorin’s side. 

When he pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s curls he sighed again, the arm thrown across Thorin’s torso tensed slightly before the hobbit completely relaxed and his breathing deepened. Thorin closed his eyes and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://andalusa.tumblr.com)


End file.
